


Car Service

by GertieCraign, omgbubblesomg



Series: 31 fics in 31 days [31]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Dean/Baby (implied), Human Impala, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Quite Literally, Sampala - Freeform, flirting with the possibility of becoming crack, going out with a bang, last day of kinktober, puns, putting jizz in places jizz has no right to be, somewhat authentic car anatomy, well almost crack anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 07:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GertieCraign/pseuds/GertieCraign, https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Instead of sitting in the passenger seat, Sam nowisthe passenger seat. And the driver’s seat. And, well, all the other seats and the rest of the whole car, too.And it really should be weird, how Dean’s sitting on his brother.Inhis brother.But it isn’t.





	Car Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TFWBT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFWBT/gifts).



> Kinktober Day 31: **free for all**
> 
> Holy guacamole you guys. 31 fics in 31 days. We made it.
> 
> If you are one of the awesome few who followed me the whole way, congratulations, nerd, you just read over 40k of kink and we are officially best friends. 
> 
> I feel like I need to thank so many of you. JFC. For ideas, for morale, for patiently sound-boarding, for cheering, and for following along on this crazy adventure. The list is too long. From the deepest, sincerest part of my heart: **THANK YOU!** And thank you to each and every one of you who commented and kudosed on one or (god forbid) all of these fills. I'm sending you all dildo gift baskets.
> 
> For this fic in particular, special thanks to gertiecraign. I have come to the conclusion that American cars are _entirely different things_ and not at all related to cars anywhere else in the world. And without gertie renaming things for me this fic would have been gibberish to most of you. Seriously. The only car part with a shared name is the wheel. (YOU DO CALL THAT A STEERING WHEEL, RIGHT?) And thanks to TFWBT who came up with a horny Sampala. 
> 
> I love you all and I'm getting so emotional but also it's 2am so here it is. The 31st fic.

The weirdest part is how not-weird it is. How seamlessly they transition from being Dean-and-Sam to Dean-and-Baby.

Some things take some getting used to, of course. Instead of asking Dean to turn the music down, Sam jams the volume button. Instead of complaining about how fast Dean is going, Sam just applies the brakes himself. Instead of sitting in the passenger seat, Sam now _is_ the passenger seat. And the driver’s seat. And, well, all the other seats and the rest of the whole car, too.

And it really should be weird, how Dean’s sitting on his brother. _In_ his brother.

But it isn’t.

And that’s the weirdest part.

They’re cruising down I-70 and Sam has a local station on. Dean’s sure he wouldn’t be able to find a single song if he searched the airwaves, but Sam has tuned the radio perfectly and they’re getting crisper music than anything he can remember ever managing from Baby before. He sings along to a song he’s forgotten half the lyrics to, and Sam fills the gaps seamlessly, humming along in his ethereal car-voice.

It’s comfortable.

Until, that is, the wheel jerks under Dean’s hands and Sam grunts in pain. They slow to a crawl without Dean even hitting the brakes.

“Sam? What’s going on?”

“I got something in my foot, or my wheel, I guess. Ah, shit, can you take a look?”

Sam helpfully opens his door and Dean hops out into the cool afternoon air. Sure enough, the back rear wheel has a nail wedged into the rubber. Thankfully it hasn’t been in there long enough to cause any damage to the car, but it can’t be comfortable, either.

“Looks like you’ve been nailed,” Dean says out loud, patting the rear bumper. The windshield wipers swipe once in what Dean can only assume is an eye roll. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a spare.” He pats the bumper again, and it might be his imagination but Sam twitches at the touch.

He pops the trunk and Sam groans alarmingly. “Jeez,” Sam wheezes, “careful with that.”

Dean tries not to think about what piece of anatomy he’s about to go rifling through.

Except then Sam groans again and he fails miserably.

“Don’t make that noise when I’m in here,” he warns, sweeping the rock salt aside to get to the spare underneath.

“Then stop shoving things around in my trunk,” Sam snaps back, and, yep, there goes Dean’s overactive imagination. He’s elbows-deep in his brother’s ass.

The spare is held down with an assortment of straps which he flicks open one by one. Sam accompanies each opened buckle with a short gasp that sounds totally unintentional, and Dean pointedly ignores each one. He tries to work faster, but that only makes him fumble at the straps, which really doesn’t seem to help matters.

Eventually the spare comes loose and he hauls it out. It thunks to the ground and bounces slightly before coming to lie on its side next to the flat. Dean reaches back into the trunk to smooth everything out. There’s a circular section of interior carpet that’s darker grey where the tire has been resting. It’s free of dust and debris and looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. He flattens his hands over it almost involuntarily.

Sam definitely does not moan. That is not a moan that Dean hears.

Just to be sure, he scratches his fingers through the same clean, untouched carpet. It’s a part of his Baby that he’s never become familiar with, and it shouldn’t feel as good as it does when it scritches roughly against his fingertips.

Sam’s hood flies open on another moan.

Dean yanks his hands back and he’s actually sorta definitely kinda glad that Sam doesn’t have eyes because the feel of his brother’s interior carpet against his fingers has made his jeans a little tight and that’s not the kind of thing he wants to dwell on for too long.

He shuts the trunk a little too hard and ignores the surprised “Hey!” as Sam bobs momentarily.

“Okay, Sammy,” he says loudly, “lemme just jack you up a bit then we can get this blown tire out.”

“Wait, aren’t you going to close my hood first?”

“Huh?” Dean looks over and, yep, Sam’s hood is still open. He rolls his eyes. “You can do that yourself, can’t you?”

Sam trembles slightly with exertion as he tries. “It won’t go down!”

Dean shrugs. “It’s probably good for your engine to cool a bit anyway. We’ve been on the road for hours.”

“Dean! Anyone could drive past!”

Dean isn’t sure why having his engine on display is such an issue, and he really doesn’t want to think about what Sam thinks he’s exposing to the empty highway (except for how he very much does want to know) so he circles Sam and gingerly lowers the hood. It doesn’t close properly so he has to flatten his hands against the smooth waxed finish and lean his weight against it until the latch catches. Sam’s whole front tips forward slightly and the springs creak.

“Oh Christ, Dean, _harder._ ”

Dean abruptly removes his hands and Sam bounces back, making that creaking sound again that reminds Dean of far too many nights in the Impala’s backseat, steaming up the windows. And obviously Sam meant for Dean to press harder to close the hood. Nothing more. Right? But the association has been made in Dean’s brain and, fuck, now he’s thinking about sex in Sam’s backseat.

He lurches away from the hood and shakes his head to clear _that_ unwanted image out of his brain. (And it _is_ unwanted. He’s _not_ interested in thinking about what it would feel like being naked against Sam’s upholstery. His fingers digging into the leather. A seatbelt between his teeth. His dick shoved up against the seatback, getting Sam wet and dirty and…)

He manages to jack Sam up without any further incident. He doesn’t dwell on the words “jack” and “Sam” being in the same sentence, and Sam doesn’t make any more weird sounds or movements. Everything starts to feel normal again and it’s almost familiar how Sam windshield-wiper-eye-rolls when Dean asks him if he’s _tired_ of the nail yet.

The wheel is changed in twenty minutes flat, and Dean wipes his hands on an old rag, admiring his handiwork. He’s a little sweaty, but the hard work has erased any indecent car-related thoughts and that’s worth the extra grime.

“Ok, Sammy, how’s that feel?”

Sam rolls forward a few yards, and then back to Dean’s side. “ _Ah_ , Dean, that’s so much better. Thank you.” There’s an obvious note of relief in Sam’s voice and Dean briefly wonders what having a nail in your tire might feel like.

“No problem, buddy.” He pats Sam’s roof. “Anything else I need to look at before we go?”

There’s a pregnant pause and Dean can almost see Sam shifting uncomfortably. “Erm,” Sam says, “actually, yeah. I think you gotta, um…”

“Spit it out. No need to _tread_ carefully.”

Sam’s windshield wipers swipe acerbically at the pun. “Seriously, Dean. I think there might be something wrong with that plastic thingie near the engine.”

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that, Sammy. Plastic thingie?”

“Well _I_ don’t know what it’s called. The thing with all the wires coming out of it. It feels like a… well, it feels like it’s in the middle somewhere.”

Dean rolls his eyes (and is quietly glad that he still has eyes to roll). “The distributor?” he asks. Sam’s front doors open and shut, and Dean assumes that’s his version of a shrug. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters. “Let’s take a look.”

Sam doesn’t fling open the hood this time, so Dean runs his fingers under the seam, looking for the catch. Sam does a kind of all-over tremble that Dean momentarily disregards, and he digs his fingers further into the crevice, sliding slowly up and down, blindly searching for the elusive hook that’s holding the hood in place. Sam feels kind of warm, and the gap is just tight enough that Dean’s fingers are being squeezed as he delves into the space between the hood and the body of the car. When he locates the hook with his fingertips Sam’s tremble becomes more pronounced, and he cries out as Dean pops him open.

“You alright there, Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam gasps, “yeah, I… keep going.”

Dean lifts the hood the rest of the way and only when it’s fully raised does he remember that Sam had been embarrassed to expose this part of himself only twenty minutes prior.

His hand pauses in midair, halfway to the distributor cap. “Erm, Sam? What exactly am I going to be touching in here?” What if one of these parts is Sam’s dick or something?

The front doors open and shut again. “I don’t know what you mean,” Sam says airily. “I’m a car, Dean.”

Well, Dean can’t really argue with that. Sam definitely _is_ a car. He shrugs and reaches in.

The distributor cap has eight thick electrical wires running out of it, connecting to eight separate spark plugs. Dean reaches for the closest one, wrapping his fingers around the connection to check for anything loose. Sam gasps so quietly that he would have missed the sound completely if he wasn’t listening out for it.

“Sam? You okay?”

“Yep,” Sam says, voice pitched an octave higher than usual. “Keep looking.”

Dean frowns, and reaches for the second connection. Sam makes the same barely-there gasp, and this time Dean’s sure of it.

“You’re getting off on this!” he accuses.

“Am not!”

Dean tickles the third connection and Sam moans lowly. “Are so!”

“Okay, okay,” Sam gasps. “God, but please don’t—” He loses the sentence on a groan “—Please don’t stop!”

Dean uses both hands to wrap around separate wires, and he squeezes. The radiator cap pops off and almost hits him in the face.

“What the hell, man?”

“Sorry, sorry, don’t stop! Dean, don’t, you gotta—”

Dean retrieves the cap and replaces it before he hauls the hood down, slamming it shut, and Sam makes a sound not unlike a howl, which sounds so eerie that Dean almost opens the hood again just to make it stop.

“Quit that,” he snaps instead. “We’re heading to Carolina, remember? We have a ghost to deal with. We can’t hang out next to a highway while you oil your dipstick or whatever.”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam whines plaintively. “It’ll take five minutes.”

“I ain’t helping! Figure it out in your own time!”

“I don’t have hands, Dean, what do you want me to do?”

“Not my problem, Sammy,” Dean says cheerfully, but Sam seems to disagree because when Dean reaches for the driver-side door it slams shut, and locks from the inside. “Sam!” he barks. “Open up!”

“ _I really think you need to finish checking the distribution wires,_ ” Sam says pointedly.

Dean sighs. “Spark plug wires,” he corrects, though he already knows he’s not going to win this argument. But they actually really do need to get to Carolina. “Listen,” he says, placating. “How about we make a deal? You get us to town, we get rid of this ghost, and then I’ll take you to a car wash. How’s that sound?”

Sam pauses, and the rearview mirror twists a bit, as though he’s considering. “ _Before_ the hunt,” he eventually demands. “And one of those good car wash places, too, not those ones that are just soapy water hoses. And… and you gotta fix the distributor thingie when the hunt’s finished, as well.”

Dean doesn’t think ‘fix’ is the correct term for what Sam wants him to do, but, “If you get this hunt finished before tomorrow night I’ll give your whole engine compartment a clean,” he promises. The door springs open, which Dean takes as an acceptance of the deal. Sam revs the engine as he gets in, and Dean’s barely done up his seatbelt before Sam’s tearing away from the side of the road, roaring towards town.

“Impatient, much?” Dean mutters, and doesn’t bother to put his hands on the wheel. Sam’s in control right now.

“You’re not the one who’s been felt up for the last half hour,” Sam points out.

“That actually felt good? Damn, maybe I should run your battery down just to jump-start you.”

Sam swerves a bit. “Dammit, Dean, not when I’m driving!”

Dean chuckles. “What’s up, Sammy? Am I _gearing_ you up?”

“ _Dean._ ”

Dean flicks open the button on his jeans, and pulls himself out. He’s been hard since he first got his fingers beneath Sam’s hood, and now seems like the perfect time to deal with it. Sam’s got the car under control, and Dean shimmies forward slightly until his cock is resting against the steering wheel.

“Dean, what are you— _is that what I think it is?_ ”

“Problem?” He uses the heel of his hand to press his cock into Sam’s wheel, and the pressure is exactly what he needs. He’s been mucking about in Baby’s interior for years, and his reaction to his car has never taken him by surprise before, even if it’s _Sam_ now. He wraps his fingers around his cock and starts to stroke, long and slow, just how he likes it. “Bet you can’t wait til the end of the hunt, huh, Sam?”

“How is it fair that I have to wait and you get to jack off on my front seat?”

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” Dean promises. A drop of precome beads at the tip of his cock and he presses it into the wheel, smearing it gently.

“Fucking hell, Dean.”

Dean chuckles, and uses his thumb to spread the drop further, massaging it into the familiar dimpled wheel. “I know my Baby inside and out,” he murmurs. “Every little inch. I know just what I’m going to do to you as soon as I get a chance.” He presses another kiss-drop of precome into the wheel. “I’ll get you all cleaned up and pretty,” he promises. “I’ll get some nice clean rags, the soft ones that won’t smudge you or anything, and a wire brush or two. I’ll fill a few buckets with warm water, how’s that sound?”

“Dean, oh my god, that’s so fucking hot.”

“And you always thought my car kink was weird,” Dean chuckles. “Do you know what a dremel is, Sammy? Like a rotating vibrator basically. You’ll love it. I’ll get one with a wire brush attachment, how about that? Get the surface rust off the exhaust manifold—”

“Dean!”

“—or parts of the block, maybe an engine mount or two—”

“ _Dean!_ ”

Dean speeds up his hand, now. God, it feels so good, talking about this like it’s something dirty. Like getting right up into Sam’s interior is dirty. And it _is,_ Christ. Suddenly it’s the kinkiest thing he can think of and the sound of Sam’s engine purring gets louder in his ears. He grips the dashboard with one hand. “Sam!” he cries. He scrubs at the dash one-handed, rubs it with his knuckles, and the glovebox pops open next to his knee. He barely even thinks about it, just shuffles over and aims himself to the right and then he’s coming into Sam’s open glovebox and Sam is growling and purring and sounding exactly like he had always expected a horny car to sound.

Long seconds later he collapses back against the seat, panting. The glovebox falls shut again, and Dean has a vague idea that maybe that’s Sam’s version of swallowing.

“I’m not going to want to open that again, am I?” he asks dazedly.

“Probably not,” Sam admits.

It’s a small price to pay, Dean thinks.

Sam’s engine revs, and they speed towards town.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) If you liked this--or any other kinktober fic!--please kudos or even leave a comment so I can justify this use of my time. Remember, the more feedback I get the more likely I am to do kinktober next year
> 
> (that's a joke i'm never doing kinktober ever again *hysterical laughter*)
> 
> Happy Halloween folks!


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